


you've been throwing bricks at my window like there's no better way to say hello

by thewolvescalledmehome



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Ficlet, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 13:00:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12190458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolvescalledmehome/pseuds/thewolvescalledmehome
Summary: For the prompt "under the influence" requested by sluttubus on tumblr





	you've been throwing bricks at my window like there's no better way to say hello

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the song "Reckless" by You Me At Six

Jon knew coming back was sure to stir up some trouble, given the way he left six years ago, but he didn’t really have a choice in the matter. He couldn’t stay where he was, not after his honorable discharge, and he didn’t have anywhere else to go.

He made sure to catch the latest bus possible. He’d show up in the middle of the night. Then he wouldn’t risk running into anyone.

The house was darker than the night outside, though that was to be expected. No one had lived in it, as far as he was aware, since he left. He had been the only one living there, after his mum died. He was sure the Starks probably kept it up for him, but it still felt empty.

Empty he could deal with though, if it meant not returning to the past.

He’d dozed on the bus, but he was still tired. Travelling did that to him. He had planned on unpacking at least a little bit before morning, but by the time he made it up to his childhood bedroom, he decided against it. Instead, he threw his bag in the corner, stripped off his crumpled clothes, and crawled into the bed that felt much too soft after the army cots.

 

Jon was startled awake, rolling out of bed and to the floor, adrenaline pumping through his system. His instinct had him looking around to see if the bullets struck any of his bunkmates before he realized he was home, and that hadn’t been gunfire that had awoken him.

He stood, trying to figure out what had pulled him from his sleep. It wasn’t as though he was a deep sleeper, not after the army, and he was pretty sure that was an actual sound he’d heard, not just something leftover from being in a warzone for five years.

Jon was still trying to figure it out when the sound came again: popping like rapid gunfire, but not as startling. He was looking towards his window this time, which meant he saw the rocks strike the glass.

Someone knew he was home.

He had a handful of guesses, and most of them all had the same surname. He had told Ned he’d be back, but not the time. He wouldn’t put it past any of them to track the bus schedules, but throwing rocks at his window didn’t seem like something just anyone of them would do. No, Jon was pretty sure Robb would call like a normal person, and Theon would lean on the doorbell like an ass. No, rocks to the window seemed a like a definite Arya thing to do.

Jon threw up the window just as the person in the street changed tactics.

“Wake up, Jon Snow! I know you’re home!” That wasn’t Arya yelling though. That was a different Stark daughter.

 _Shit_.

“You’ve got some ‘splaining to do!” Sansa yelled up at him, pointing her finger. Jon sighed, pulling his head back in and throwing on some pants before heading down to the street.

He met her on the front walk, where he thought it looked as though she was swaying slightly. She cackled when he shut the front door behind him.

“Sansa…are—are you _drunk_?” he asked, even as she leaned into him for balance. He reckoned she’d have to be, given it was half two in the morning and she was throwing rocks at his window.

“No, I’m not,” she said indignantly. Jon rolled his eyes.

Really, he should’ve expected it, her showing up, but he didn’t really think she’d be the first person he’d see. And he certainly didn’t think it would be with her drunk early in the morning.

“Why don’t we go inside?” he asked, reaching for her arm. She backed away from him.

“Nooo. I’m not going inside with you, Jon Snow. Not after last time,” she giggled, walking away from him. He scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. He’d been asleep for maybe— _maybe_ —an hour and a half. He wasn’t awake enough to deal with this.

“What have I got to explain to you then?” he asked, hoping if he answered whatever questions she had she’d leave him in peace.

“You,” she started, whirling on him, finger pointing at his chest. “Have got to ‘splain—” Sansa jabbed at him. “—why—you—kissed—me—six—years—ago—” Each word was punctuated with a poke to his chest. “AND THEN LEFT WITHOUT SAYING GOODBYE?” She roared the last part, and while Jon wasn’t honestly sure if he knew any of the neighbors, he didn’t really want her waking up the whole street.

“I’ll tell you anything you want if you come inside.”

“Fine,” she huffed, teetering toward the house. He offered a hand but she shrugged him off “’M fine. Don’t need your help,” she mumbled, stalking ahead of him.

Inside, she was pacing the living room. Jon wasn’t sure how she possibly was able to do that without getting dizzy. _He_ was getting dizzy watching her.

“So,” she stated, stopping abruptly in front of him. “Why’d you kiss me? Actually. Why’d you _more_ than kiss me _and then leave with no contact for six blood years_?” She wasn’t quite yelling, but she was certainly speaking louder than he’d like.

“To be fair, I did write.” Sansa laughed, eyes rolling.

“Ah yes. _Dear Stark family, please know that I’m safe_ , yadda yadda. That doesn’t count.”

“Because I’m an idiot?” he answered, shrugging. Sansa laughed again, pacing again.

“Great bloody answer, Jon Snow.”

“Because I was drunk. I thought _it’s now or never_. I didn’t expect you to care.”

“Well, I did care, didn’t I?”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, unable to say anything else.

“Well.” She flopped down next to him, a little closer than they would’ve normally sat, though Jon chalked that up to her being drunk. “You’re back now, aren’t you?” Jon opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He thought he knew what she was implying, but there was no way. She was drunk. She didn’t know what she was saying.

“I am…” he said slowly, unable to come up with anything else to say.

“D’ya plan on leaving for six years again tomorrow?” she asked, giggling.

“Erm, no. I don’t.”

“Good.” She leaned forward, kissing him, pushing him back into the couch. Jon could taste the lemon vodka still in her mouth, but on her it tasted like heaven.

His hands were just twisting into her hair when she was pulled away, far too soon.

“I better hear from you tomorrow, Jon Snow.”


End file.
